


Strange, Silly, Brave

by MerryWriting



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cap is a grumpy old man, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Injury, Kissing Kink, Rehabilitation, SO MUCH FLUFF, bowling alley fluff, but he's sweet af, skip to chapter 7 for the sexiness, the "Princess" saves the Captain in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryWriting/pseuds/MerryWriting
Summary: Steve makes a rookie mistake in the field, and because of it a bystander steps in to save him. Feeling guilty and responsible for her injuries he decided that he, and the Avengers, must ensure she gets the best care, but didn't expect the feelings that started to creep up on him.A pretty straight-up, feel good, fluff fest interspersed with snark, Steve-baiting, and lemony twangs for good measure.





	1. Chapter 1

 “Who’s that?”

“Who?”

“On the ground?”

The gathered crowd murmured fearfully as Juno pushed her way forward, parting bystanders like reeds. When she reached the forefront she took in the scene completely; the man still standing, if such a thing could be said to be a man, was prowling towards his prone enemy like a lion stalking its prey. He was huge, unarmed, but reeking of power. The man on the ground groaned and reached for his shield, but it was too late.

He was going to die.

“Holy shit, that’s Captain America!” Someone shouted as her feet took over and she hurled herself into the fray,

_What are you doing?_

Common sense screamed a fruitless ‘no’ as Juno brought her body between the two men, turning to throw her arms out as she faced the attacker in the shade provided by his own form. Surprise flitted across his features,

“Get out of the way,” the man on the ground, Captain America apparently, groaned, shaking his head as he began to gather himself. Juno wavered; why was she here? Do unto others was all fine and well, but this was suicide. If she could only buy him a few seconds…

 

A strong hand clamped on her arm as the aggressor, whoever he was, decided she was no obstacle at all. Or at least one not worth working around; the sudden, crushing pressure broke her from the horrified reverie that had swallowed her. What few survival instincts she possessed kicked into overdrive, and Juno raked her nails down his face, mourning the manicure that wasn’t yet a day old, before slamming her forehead into his nose.

Blinding pain ricocheted around her head and she wondered, briefly, if his nose or her skull had given under the onslaught. A low curse came from somewhere in front of her, but the pressure lessened. _I need to get out of here,_ Juno whirled on the spot and crouched to help the Captain to his feet, though he did most of the work.

His face was battered and bloody, but the cold, blue eyes it held were lively and sharp as a razor blade. He shook his head and bent quickly to heft his shield as a shadow in her periphery made Juno turn,

“Get out of-” the rest of his sentence was lost in an earth shattering explosion of sound followed by sudden silence and a spreading numbness that felt like flying.

 

Juno blinked to bring the world into focus, resisted the urge to spit, and tasted metal. He was on his feet, now, and fighting as if he had never been beaten down. But they moved in jerking spurts, jumping from place to place without sense. Then, just as suddenly, the attacker, the villain she supposed, was gone and there was a forest of feet around her. Shining, black boots pushed through the crowd, and those cold, blue eyes came into view. Surprisingly pink, soft looking lips framed words that she couldn’t hear,

“-hear me?”

She nodded, but he reached out to clamp a hand on her neck.

“Don’t move your neck. Stay still.”

“Why?” She croaked, trying to move in vain against the iron strength of that hand. He pressed a hand to his ear,

“Tony, Natasha… Clint, is anyone paying attention to this damn thing?” He frowned, “Naasha? Get down here. Civilian casualty to come to the Compound…… a long story, just get transport….” Juno let the tension slip from her body, “Hey, hello, stay with me,” he loomed, actually loomed. _How does someone get so big?_ A shiver of fear ran through her, though she knew he was supposed to be one of the ‘good guys’, “you have to stay awake.”

“Why?”

“In case we can’t wake you up.” He said without guile,

“I’m tired,”

“Where are you from? Hey, what’s your name?” He looked over his shoulder, “Is there a Doctor out there?” An affirmative came,

“Juno…” Juno said, “I’m Juno.”

“Where are you from, Doll?” He asked, visible anxious now. Juno smiled, laughing a little though it sent hot agony through her back and face. _Doll? Christ on a crutch,_

“Glasgow,” she said, “Scotland…” he nodded and started to speak, but the world had gone mute again. When she opened her eyes again a beautiful, red-headed woman was in his place and the world seemed to have gone white,

“Hello… how are you feeling?” She spoke loudly and slowly as if she were touched in the head instead of injured. Juno tried to nod, but found she couldn’t. In panic she raised her hands, seeing torn, bloody skin,

“It’s a brace,” a rough, wild haired man came into view, “please don’t move. We’re trying to help you,” he raised his chin a little, “Jarvis what’s the ETA on that morphine? Pain’s gonna hit soon.” It already had, she suppressed a sob as hot tears began to trickle down her cheeks,

“Where am I?” Her voice was shrill, pathetically weak and needy. She closed her eyes against the shame,

“You’re in the Avengers compound,” the man said, raking a hand through his hair, “you’re safe here, and more to the point,” he motioned to the side, “you’re in the best hands. This is our Doctor, she’s the best at what she does.” The doctor produces a shining syringe, and panic flooded her system as a synthesised voice echoed around the pulsing room,

“Mr Stark, heart rate and blood pressure suggest that the subject has a phobia of needl…” the world went black.

 

* * *

 

 

            Steve clenched his jaw tight, ignoring the throbbing points of pain that covered his body. The target was down, but at what cost; the woman, _Juno_ , was motionless in the bed as the doctors calmly buzzed around her. She looked smaller now than she had when she appeared from nowhere in the street,

“You ok, Cap?” Clint crossed his arms,

“Fine.” He said,

“Really?”

“…No,” he pressed his palm to his mouth, shaking his head before continuing, “the team was loose today. We shouldn’t have split when we did. I should have known where Natasha and Tony were. I should have…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Steve,” Clint said, “you couldn’t have known she’d get in the way.”  Steve ground his thumb against the thick, calloused skin on the side of his finger,

“She didn’t Clint… she saved my life. I lost track of you all, and he got the better of me. I cracked my head on the way down,” he rubbed the spot where his shield had split the skin, “he would have got me.” Clint raised his brows,

“He’s right,” Natasha came from deeper in the compound, “there’s footage.”

 

He saw it all again; the moment he dropped the ball, turning to look for the others, and the sudden, vicious punch that shouldn’t have taken him out. The fall, the edge of his shield catching his temple, and the kick that sent him sprawling.

And then her, approaching from the opposite side of the street; she pushed through the crowd and ran out to shield him almost without hesitation. The camera, however, caught the sudden panic on her face as she realised the seriousness of the situation. She fought like a civilian, but with conviction; the gouge was aimed at his eyes, the head-butt had force but not style.

He turned away for her fatal error; turning to help him.

“Christ,” Clint swore quietly, “surprised her head’s still attached.”

“This is my fault, I dropped the ball.” Steve said, a tight ball of shame burning in his stomach, the image of her bloody, swollen face branded into his mind. Natasha pursed her lips,

“So what do you want to do?” She asked eventually,

“I… we have to look after her,” Steve said, “make sure she heals, make sure she’s taken care of, and make sure this never happens again.”

 

Clint slipped away first, his reflection fading quickly, but Natasha stayed, pressing her hand to his shoulder,

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she said, and then left with soundless grace. In the shining glass he could see his own reflection, jaw working, brows drawn in, and beyond that Tony pacing the room. Overseeing his machines as they helped the doctors and nurses do their work. Always ready for an experiment.

And beyond him the small, almost lifeless body of the strange, silly, brave woman who had risked her life for him. For the briefest moment he wondered if this was what Peggy had been thinking when he raised his head from the ground all those years ago, with that dud grenade cocooned under his belly.

 

Strange. Silly. _Brave._


	2. Chapter 2

“What do we know about her?” Tony said, leaning back in his chair,

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Clint said,

“Because, Clint,” Tony said, “we need to know if she has family that’s going to be looking for her, we need to know if she has medical conditions, and we need to know if she poses a security risk.” Steve nodded,

“Getting her medical records won’t be an issue,” Natasha said, “they’ve already been sent for.”

“Tony can do a background check,” Steve said, rubbing his face, “Clint, try to find any family she has and offer to bring them here.” He drummed his fingers on the table top, “How is she now?”

“Doctor Maramba is surprised at how little damage she suffered given that Miss Rosche hit a concrete wall after being struck,” Jarvis chimed in, “her back is broken in two places, but not badly. Her spinal cord remains intact and undamaged, her neck, jaw, collarbone, and ribs are fractured, however.”

 

Steve closed his eyes, curling around the searing, tight pain in the pit of his stomach. Shame washed over him, and the image of her standing over him in a flimsy summer dress, wreathed in a halo of foreboding shadow as she shielded him with a body that seemed both impossible small and immeasurably strong from his place on the ground.

Failure was a bitter pill to take, no matter how many times you had tasted it before.

“Is she awake?” He asked eventually,

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said,

“Good.” He stood, straightening his shirt, and turned on his heel, “Tell Dr Maramba that I’m on my way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you know who I am?” He was kneeling at eye level, holding one of her hands gently between his own. Juno smiled weakly,

“You’re ‘Captain America’, right?” She said, laughing tentatively,

“Yes,” he said, lips twitching tightly, “do you remember why you’re here?”

 

That was the question; she rifled through the shattered fragments of memory in an attempt to piece the day together,

“You were there… you…. who was he?” She asked, tongue thick and clumsy. He looked away,

“Someone that should never have been there,” he said, “you were hurt, Juno, because you intervened on my behalf. You save my life,” he said it with such sincerity, looking into her eyes without pretence or guile, that she wouldn’t have been able to hold his gaze without the dull sheen of morphine between them.

“I’m pretty sure I got bitch slapped, actually,” she said, starting when a musical laugh rang around the white, sterile room. The red-haired woman came into view,

“I like her, Steve,” she said, “she’s got guts.” _Steve?_ Steve gave her a firm look and sighed,

“You saved my life,” he said, “or at least saved me severe injury. You have my thanks, and my apologies.”

“You don’t have to be… to be… sorry,” she said, head spinning,

“I do,” he said, “we do. It’s our job to protect people like you. It was my job to protect everyone on that street… including you.” Juno blinked slowly, _how many women would kill to be in this position… well, not THIS position…_ it was surreal.

“Ok,” she said after some time, twitching her hand in his as if that could offer comfort. His jaw muscles clenched over and over, “I guess I’ll forgive you if you promise not to get me killed again.” He jerked a little, paled, and then seemed to realise that she was teasing him. The read-head laughed again, and a tight smile spread across his face,

“I think that can be arranged,” he said with a small laugh, and then his face set and he added, “I’m going to make sure no-one hurts you like this again. We’re going to make sure that _this_ never happens to anyone else.”

“Ok,” she said, feeling giddied by his intensity. As the world came into focus she felt the heaviness of her own body, and the restraints and braces that seemed to clad every inch of it,

“If you want to go elsewhere we will see it done, but here we can offer you the best care and rehabilitation,” he was becoming fuzzy, his face fading in and out as pain began to resurface,

“I can’t feel my feet,” she croaked, panic beginning to rise,

“Miss Rosche,” a synthesised voice piped up, “you have suffered some nerve damage, but no spinal cord injuries. The numbness will pass.”

“I won’t… I can walk?” She said, voice creaking under the sudden tightening in her throat and chest,

“There’s no reason why you should not walk as well as ever once your injuries heal.” It clarified, and some of the fear began to fade,

“Are you alright?” He said, squeezing her hand, “Can I get you water?”

“I’m… no, yes… please, I,” she tried to shake her head, but couldn’t move. The world became too bright, too hot, and each breath came quickly. All intake; a strong, cool hand touched her forehead,

“Stop, look at me,” blue eyes swam into focus, “breath in, in, in, hold it… and out, out, out… out. Again.” She held that gaze as if it was a lifeline, and she a drowning swimmer. He guided her through each breath until her heart began to return to a normal rate.

 

He sank back into his chair once her breathing slowed,

“You’re restrained at the moment, and the braces will stay on until the doctors here decide you’re ready to have them removed… I understand that it’s frightening, but it’s for the best.”

The strange mix of care and cold pragmatism was beyond what her limited capacities could handle at the moment. Juno swallowed, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t usually. I’m not a crier usually,” she said,

“You’re frightened.” He repeated,

“Yes,” she said after a failed attempt to nod,

“You don’t have to be,” he said, “we’re going to take good care of you…” he turned, and then stood, holding a bottle of water as he looked over her to an unseen person, “how can she sit?”

“The bed moves. The button there,” a smooth, honeyed voice washed over her, “not that one, that one. Make sure it’s that one so that her back stays straight.” She was raised to see the room properly for the first time; it was much like any hospital room, but one wall was entirely made of glass. Through it she could see a wide, creamy hallway and windows out on to rippling green fields. He gently held her chin and helped her to drink. The cool water soothed her throat and washed away the foul taste that she hadn’t realised was there in the first place.

 

For the first time she saw him in full.

He held himself rather like a calf; as if the bulk of his body was surprising to him. As if he didn’t know what to do with the muscles, the heavy limbs, and the broad hands. He was looking at her as if she was a problem he couldn’t quite grasp.

“What you did for me… it was very brave,” he said, “very stupid, but very brave.”

“You’re welcome,” she muttered, laying on the annoyance as thick as her fatigue would allow, he sighed,

“Why did you do it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant back onto one, thick leg,

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked, side-stepping the question as best she could. _Why the fuck did you, stupid cow?_

“No-one else seemed to want to,” he said, “you could have died. You very nearly did. If you had hit the curb instead of the wall, or landed on your head-”

“So is this how you work, yeah?” She croaked, “Thank you for saving my life, but by the way actually you’re a fucking idiot?”

He looked stricken for a moment,

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said,

“Then what did you mean to do?” She snapped, “Oh, look I’m sorry. Please just leave me alone,” she closed her eyes, “I’m tired and sore, and it’s making me… short.” He nodded, rubbed his face, the bruises less livid than they should have been, all things considered, and more flattering than should have been allowed. She told herself that the urge to care for him was a professional reflex; it was what doctors did, after all. He nodded, eventually, and turned to leave,

“No, actually,” he said, turning back to her “I… I am sorry. That was rude and I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s fine,” she said,

“No, I really-”

“It’s fine, Captain.” Juno closed her eyes and drew in a deep, steady breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Well you know how to roll out the carpet, Cap,” Tony grinned from his perch on a low, grey sofa, “tell the cutie who saved your ass that you’re going to take care of her, get all tender, and then call her an idiot.”

“Tony, if you can’t be helpful be silent,” Steve rumbled,

“Okay, here we go. One Juno Rosche, twenty-seven, a doctor from Glasgow in Scotland,” Tony sniffed, “involved in the so-called Dark Days that followed the EMP mishap. One ex-fiance, deceased,” Tony raised his brows, “Suicide. No connections to any major political body, very slim file mostly centred on the year in which she ran a refugee station of some sort. Security threat low to non-existent. No one’s after her, and she’s not the type that Hydra have any success recruiting.”

“Very helpful, thank you.” Steve tapped his palms on his thighs and sighed,

“You look three steps from a blow up, Steve, care to share?”

“No.”

Tony pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows,

“Ok… well, please try not to insult out guest anymore or she may actually sue,” Tony smiled,

“They don’t do that,” Natasha slunk into the room,

“What?”

“The Scots, not as big as personal suits as Americans,” said, “though, yes, Steve, please don’t call the woman who saved your life an idiot.”

“It was…” he threw up his hands, “never mind. We need to go,” he pushed his phone, damn thing, into his pocket, “trouble in Bali.”


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor Maramba hovered around Juno like a maternal fly, clucking and tutting at her eagerness to be rid of the supports and braces that had shackled her to the bed in this room,

“Peace!” She slapped her arm gently, “You’re not ready for running yet!”

“I’ll just be glad to wash my damn hair myself,” Juno laughed, “give _myself_ a sponge bath. Not that you girls haven’t been great fun.” The nurses laughed,

“Well, we could try getting Captain Rogers to give you your next one,” one of the nurses said, “would that spice it up.” Juno rolled her eyes,

“Aye, sure, always wanted to have someone tell me I’m a moron while semi-naked.” She said, and they laughed. The Dr pursed her lips,

“You shouldn’t let that hurt your feelings,” she said quietly, “he’s a good man, but I think they thawed away some of his social graces with all that ice. He felt guilty as sin about what happened when you came in. Really angry with himself, but he’s phone every day to make sure you’re alright since they left for Bali.”

“Oh,” Juno bit her lip, “now I feel guilty for spending the last two months arguing with him in my head.” She sighed and picked at her nails. The doctor laughed and shook her head.

“Right, well Miss Rosche you’ll need the neck brace, and you’re in a chair until further notice, but if you’re hankering for a shower you can have one… provided you stay seated of course,” she said,

“Oh you’re my favourite person in the world, Susie,” Juno groaned, “can I have a manicure?” She nodded and laughed,

“If you want,” Susie said,

“Great,” Juno grinned and turned a little, “I’ll never take moving at the waist for granted again.” The nurses laughed on their way out of the door, “Where’s everyone going?”

“Team’s back,” Susie said, “we have to check in to see if there are injuries to tend to.” She patted Juno’s knee, “I’ll be back with a chair for you soon.”

 

Juno watched the minutes tick away on a smooth, unmarked clock on the wall. Ten minutes became thirty became an hour, and eventually she closed her eyes to doze until the hydraulic hiss of the door brought her back into the fray. He looked sheepish, though she had thought that was a word you couldn’t really apply to a person; his chin pointed down, his shoulders were pulled in, and he looked at her from under his brows with a kind of tense, bitten lip apprehension,

“I was rude to you before, and I am sorry,” he said, “I… it doesn’t matter what I was, other than wrong.”

“It’s fine,” she said, and when he flinched, almost imperceptibly, she reiterated, “really, it’s ok. It was a stupid thing to do… but I’m still glad I did it.” He blinked a few times and then nodded, coming forward,

“Susie tells me that you’re ready to go into a chair… would you like to see the compound?” He asked.

“Yes!” She said, a little too loudly, and then flushed, “I mean, sure, if someone’s got time.” He laughed, showing a little teeth for the first time,

“She’s bringing a chair now…” he said, “you’ve got Cabin Fever, I’d imagine. I can take you out into the grounds if you would like?” The transformation was slow, but noticeable; like a flower opening up to the sun. Every time she blinked a little more warmth seemed to have seeped into his face. Dr Maramba brought in a chair with large wheels,

“Found this little beauty. In a week or so you can even push yourself around this heap of bricks,” she said with a radiant beam, “is Cap being nice to you this time?” She asked. He flushed and pursed his lips,

“Yes,” Juno said, suppressing a smile, “he’s going to show me around.” Susie nodded and clicked her tongue,

“Uh-huh, well just you play nice Mr Rogers. Don’t be upsetting my best patient,” she wagged a slim, elegant finger at him.

Sheepish was definitely the word.

 

       Susie ushered him from the room and helped Juno to wash away some of the sweat with gentle, precise hands. Juno bit her lip,

“God I’ll be glad when someone else doesn’t have to help me put a damn bra on,” she said, face stinging and hot as Susie clipped it into place,

“No shame in it, girl,” Susie said in reply, “we all need help with the nuts and bolts now and then.” Juno brushed her hair slowly grimacing at the greasy, lank feel of ut,

“Any dry shampoo?” She turned at the waist to catch Susie smirking,

“Sure, sure,” she said, “get you some mascara, too, if you want to impress the Cap.” Juno narrowed her eyes,

“You know I always put effort into how I look,” she said, and Susie nodded sagely, “I got a manicure the day I came here.”

“I know,”

“I do Yoga.”

“Uh-huh, do you want the make-up or not?” Susie crossed her arms. Juno sucked her teeth and then sighed,

“Yes please. Is my handbag here?”

“Yes, you want your perfume?” The smirk grew into a Cheshire grin,

“Yes. Thank you and fuck you, Susie.” Juno said, smiling when the ‘good Doctor’ threw back her head and gave a deep, belly laugh before sashaying away.

 

When she was done Susie stepped back and nodded,

“You look nice, see.” She said, holding up a mirror. Juno winced at the still yellowish skin above her right brow and the pink scar across the bridge of her nose. She looked ill, but with her hair brushed and a fine coat of make-up on she at least looked like herself,

“I…” she welled up, “I didn’t realise how badly I was hurt. I mean, I _knew…_ but…”

“I know,” Susie said, patting her shoulder, “but you look a damn sight better than when you came in, so thank the Lord of small mercies and go enjoy the sunshine.”

“Well said,” the Captain, _Steve,_ had re-entered at some point. He pushed the chair up to the bed, “some sunshine will do you good… we could stop by the dining room and get you some coffee and fruit if you wanted? I’m not sure what you’re allowed to…” he looked to Susie,

“Anything should be fine, but small amounts,” she said, “food in here’s lean and mean. Anything too rich might make you feel queasy, hon,” she said, and then shrugged, “but you know all this, right?”

“Right,” Juno smiled,

“Our girl here is a Doctor in the real world,” Susie confided. Juno flushed, but he did look impressed; his brows rose and he smiled,

“Really?”

“A surgeon,” she said, “paediatric usually.” She focused on using her arms to push further down the bed to avoid his admiring stare, and Susie’s cheeky grin.

 

Juno had seem patients do it countless times: shuffle down, reach over, grip handle, and hoist over. Some of them made it look so _effortless,_ but when she put weight on the chair handle she wobbled precariously, and pain began to throb down her back,

“Wait,” ‘Cap’ said, _what kind of a nickname is that, anyway?_ “Let me help you,” he came into view, well his belt buckle did. Juno raised her head,

“I can… actually,” she stopped mid brush-off to listen to her body. Pain centred in her back, neck, and hips, “ok, sure. Thank you.” When he knelt in front of her, however, she had to suppress a shocked giggle,

“Put your hands on my shoulders and push yourself up,” he said, looking up at her with terrifying and innocent sincerity, “I won’t let you fall.” For the first time since Hunter she believed it was true; Juno shimmied forward, suddenly aware of the hair on her legs and the chipped polish on her toes, and then reached out for him,

“Ok,” she said, more to herself than him, “I can do this.” Her feet hit the floor moments before her arms properly braced, and her legs, unused to being used, buckled a little. A pang of fear sliced its way through her belly, making her whimper as she imagined the cold linoleum rushing to meet her, but he was true to his word. He gripped her waist quickly, ears flushing red, and held her in place until her shaking hands could find purchase,

“Are you alright?” He asked,

“Fine, I’m fine,” Juno said, stars jumping in her vision as each thin breath seemed to bring in too much and too little air at once,

“Good, I… I’m going to stand,” he said, “I think it would be best if I helped you turn. Is that alright?”

“Yes.” She said numbly, and he stood slowly. It was the same scenario, she knew, and yet so much different to be holding on to shoulders above you than bearing down on a set below eye level. More intimate, more frightening. He helped her turn, but didn’t lift her as if she were a child. He enabled, he aided, and when she let her body sink into the chair she found that fact too much, “Thank you,” she said, tears welling again, _oh for fucks sake, pull yourself together!_

“You’re welcome,” he said, brows drawing down, “are you in a lot of pain?”

“What? No, no, a little,” she waved him away, wiping her tears, “I’m just a little embarrassed. I don’t like… needing help very much,” she forced a watery smile,

“I understand that,” he said,

“I… thanks for not lifting me like a waen. Like a kid, a child, I mean,” she snorted, “accents coming through.”

“It’s alright,” he fished a handkerchief from his pocket, _of course he has one,_ and wiped under her eyes gently, “I tried to not wipe away your face,” he said with a shy smile. Juno snorted again, pain rustling through her head,

“Thank you.”

“Do you still want to see the compound?” He pressed the kerchief into her hand,

“Yes please.”

“Oh thank the Lord,” Susie laughed, “these sheets need changed again. Thought we’d have to lift you out again!” She shooed them from the room without ceremony, and suddenly Juno could smell the mustiness of the carpet, and fresh paint, and hear the sounds of people humming somewhere in the depths of the building. She relaxed back into the chair and let him choose the route.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was sleeping, or so Steve thought until they made it to the dining room and she waved to a recruit who smiled at her,

“Are you alright?” He asked, leaning over the back of the chair,

“I’m fine,” she said. Now that she was more alert her accent was thick and musical, washing over him before comprehension could catch up at times, “just nosey. This place is big… does, does everyone know why I’m here?”

“Uh, yes, I believe they saw the new coverage, but they were briefed on your presence,” he said, swallowing a flood of acrid spit. Were they looking at him, too? Remembering? Juno shifted,

“Ok, that’s good,” she laughed, but it was a small, nervous sound, “I was worrying that they’d be wondering why the hell I was here.”

“Do you want anything? A coffee? Something to eat?” Steve asked, hands flexing on the handles of the wheelchair. She twisted at the waist a little, her hair catching on the brace around her neck,

“Maybe just a bottle of water? I’d like to look around more than anything,” she chuckled again, “I’ve been staring at the same patch of wall and ceiling for months.”

“And I bet it felt like years,” he said,

“Absolutely.”

 

He leaned over to grab a bottle of water from the counter as they passed and set it gently in her lap,

“Where to then?” He asked,

“Do you have a garden?” She kept trying to turn to speak to him. He nodded,

“Yes, it’s out this way…. It’s small.” He said, pushing the chair through the wide, empty hallways until they entered into the small, sun-soaked space. She made a low, pleased sound and leaned forward. He smiled,

“Do you want to sit on the bench?” He asked,

“Can I? Leave the chair I mean?” She asked, squirming in her seat a little. Susie would probably have said no; he bit the inside of his cheek and walked around the chair. She looked so… eager. So happy. She was looking at him with genuine liking and…

“Of course,” he said giddily, “just let me lift you this time, alright?” She nodded and held her arms out to him in a way that shouldn’t have made him hum with pleasure. He stooped to scoop her up, holding her close as he lowered her gently on to the warm wood of the bench. She smelled of perfume and something floral, but underneath like the hospital bed and strong painkillers. Sickly, heavy guilt settled in his stomach; she was hurt because of him and his head was spinning like a giddy teenagers because she needed his help. Needed him.

 

He stepped back, looked around the garden while regaining some composure, and then sat beside her. Her pale face was turned up to the sun; the bruises and cuts were healing, but there were a few scars which wouldn’t heal fully.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and her eyes opened quickly. They flicked to him, and he froze; they were green and blue and somehow golden all at once, and they were filled with emotion he couldn’t read,

“For what?” She asked,

“For getting you hurt,” he said, but those big, expressive eyes rolled as if he had said something crass,

“Oh shut up,” she smiled, “I got myself hurt. You might be an arse now and then… but you’ve been lovely to me. Susie told me that you… she told me that you’ve been checking in on me.” His stomach twisted, and Steve looked down at his hands,

“Sorry,”

“Stop,” she slapped his arm with the back of her hand lightly, “apologising. It’s sweet. You… are quite sweet.” She turned a little to look at him and smiled, “You took the time to do this for me.” 

“It’s no trouble,” he said, but he was grinning, “you like to be outside?”

“Mm, not as much as you might think. I’m not green fingered,” she wiggled her hands, “if that’s what you mean… but my grandparents had a big garden. I play there when I was little… I like gardens.”

“Me too,” he said, hesitating before he pushed on, “I grew up in Brooklyn. We didn’t have a garden, not like this. It was all stone, just a patch of ground to hang wet clothes in.” Juno smiled,

“Brooklyn… huh, I figured you for a farm boy,” she laughed and smiled at him as best she could, “I can see a big, strapping lad like you running a tractor…. Or whatever they used when you were young.” Steve flushed, working his hands before he felt the information pushing at his throat,

“I used to be small,” he said, “skinny and sickly… I got turned down to enlist over and over when the war broke out.”

“No?” She shifted more fully so she could look at him, and Steve found himself reaching to steady her, fear spiking in his gut,

“Yes,” he said, letting out a huff of laughter, “then I met Dr Erskine…” he chewed his lip and pulled a worn piece of paper from his pocket, “that’s him.”

 

The newspaper article was old. Older than her, which was a strange way to think on it, but it was still crisp and clear. The photo on the left showed the two of them together; the only photograph taken of them before he died. They must have figured, with Erskine gone and him missing, that the security threat was no longer a concern. Juno blinked at the slim figure beside Erskine,

“That’s you?” She asked, but she was smiling. She looked up at him and gave a delighted laugh, “Your face is exactly the same,” she said, “your smile. It’s all the same. Like they just stuck it on a bigger body.” She folded it reverently and gave it back, “Did it hurt? What they did?”

 _Blinding heat, tingling, stinging, searing and electricity. Everything being pulled apart and pushed together all at once,_ he opened his eyes, though he hadn’t been aware of closing them, and considered lying,

“Yes,” he said despite the urge to sugar coat it, “it hurt like hell. Forgive the language.”

 

The first snort was small, but within seconds she was clutching his arm and the bench in an attempt to stay still while tears of laughter trickled down her face. Steve pushed his arm under her arms, around her back, and held her steady,

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I’m not,” she wiped a tear, “I wasn’t laughing at that. I just… oh, God you really are from the 1940s. I thought ‘doll’ was a fluke, but you’re for real aren’t you?” Steve blinked owlishly,

“What?”

“I’ve never seen a man apologise for his language in my damn life,” she snorted, “especially not for the word hell.” He cleared his throat and mustered a chortle, though his throat ached and his stomach lurched,

“I guess it is stupid,” he said,

“No,” Juno said, shaking her head, “no… it’s sweet. It’s nice.” The heaving turned to warm churning,

“And ‘doll’?” He asked, looking down at her, suddenly aware of her breath on his face. Juno smiled,

“I think I like it,” she said, “a little quaint… but very charming. Is that your go to?”

“No,” he said,

“Just me then?” Her brows twitched,

“Just you.” He said, mouth dry and hot. Juno pursed her lips and let her eyes slide away,

“Ok,” she said quietly, “good.”


	4. Chapter 4

_“Ok, Good.”_

The words rang in Steve’s head as he crouched low, gun fire cracking overhead. What the hell did _that_ mean? Not that this was the time to think about it; Natasha vaulted cover and engaged three enemies. Steve considered breaking cover to help her, but she was moving with feline grace and deadly force. As always.

The blast doors opened, and an armoured truck rolled through.

“Tango in sight,” Clint piped up in his ear as an arrow took down Natasha’s last enemy,

“He was mine,” she snapped,

“Not anymore,” Clint laughed as Steve broke into a run towards the vehicle, “get ‘em Cap.”

 

The battlefield was simple, women were terrifying; it had always been this way for him. He understood the principles behind both, but in the end it was much less terrifying to crush a mans skull with the sharp edge of his shield than bare his heart and soul to some small, pretty thing who could rip it in half and have him thanking her for the experience before limping off to pray for oblivion. Maybe a fatalistic way to think, but being born the runt of the neighbourhood had instilled a reverential terror of pretty women that he couldn’t quite shake.

Bucky would have known what to do.

Of course he would have _done_ it before Steve had even figured out that he wanted to try. But that was a separate issue. Bruce barrelled into the truck from left-field, he was getting less and less predictable, and Steve barely made it out of the way. He clambered onto the side of the truck and hauled the door from its hinges, a gun pointed at him from the depths,

“Mr Talbot,” he sighed, “just… just put it down,” Steve reached into the truck and dragged the kicking suspect free, “just… no.” He shook his head and threw him down to Clint and Natasha,

“Just him in there?”

“One more, but his neck is broken,” Steve said,

“Drivers in custody,” Natasha said,

“Tony?” Steve called,

“All clear, no-one else here. Well… no-one important,” was the curt reply, “plenty of tech though. Looks like they were planning something big. I’ll have Jarvis look it over.”

“Good. Do that.” Steve said, trying to drag his thoughts back on track.

 

Natasha pursed her lips, giving that not-smiling smile of hers as she looked him up and down,

“So I’ll tell Stephanie to stop holding her breath, then?” She said quietly as they did a last sweep of the hangar and buildings surrounding it,

“Stephanie?” He asked, rifling through the wall safe she had opened for… something,

“Stephanie,” Natasha repeated, leaning over him to pluck a file from under his nose, “the woman in Corporate that I told you about. The dancer?”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, “well, yes. I’m sorry… what are you getting at Nat?” He stood,

“You’re a wet noodle, Steve,” she slapped his forehead with the file, “this was sitting under your damn nose, Bruce nearly took you out as collateral, and you’re not even _listening_.” She repeated the slap, “And all of this started when you took your red-headed saviour out to the gardens.” Steve frowned, stomach churning,

“I have no,” he cleared his throat, “no idea what you mean.”

“Liar,” she said, leaning back to cross her arms and jut her hips. Steve sighed and shook his head, “Look, talk to me Steve. We know you have no woman-skills. It’s what I love most about you,” she smiled to soften the blow.

 

“I, there’s nothing to talk about. We went out to the garden and she was really happy to get some fresh air-”

“And you lifted her wedding style into the bench and talked for two hours…” Natasha said without shame, “I saw the CCTV. You like her, or, to translate into 40’s, you ‘dig’ her.”

“Not something I would say.”

“She’s a doll.”

“Nat.” Steve groaned. Natasha laughed,

“Ok, ok, you like her… but….” She narrowed her eyes as she rifled through what she jokingly called her ‘Steve sense’, “you feel guilty.”

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean you feel bad about liking her, right?” She asked, smiling when he said nothing, “Like you would be taking advantage?”

“That’s not what I was thinking about,” he said,

“No, you were analysing every single thing you said and she said and you did and she did to work out what the deal is.” Natasha said, “Right?”

“I… ah… right. Yes.” He ran a palm over his face, “It _is_ wrong to be thinking this way.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha said, brushing her stealth suit down. Fastidious as ever, “if it was the other way around no-one would think she was predatory for having feelings for you even if you were injured.”

“But it would be my _job_ to take care of her,” he said

“Exactly,” Natasha replied, picking her way through the rubble like a cat, “it’s your job to be a hero. She did this out of… well, stupidity and bravery I would say though I’m sure you’re thinking _goodness_ , care. She did it because she’s the kind of person who wants to protect, and she does it without killing. And that gives you the squishies.”

“The whats?” Steve stopped, Natasha laughed, throwing back her head this time,

“Look, Steve I’m saying she’s your chupacabra right? The kind of woman you haven’t had to deal with since Peggy,” he flinched, “and that’s scaring you. Because what if something bad happens. Again.” Natasha stopped, turning to face him, “She’s not trained like Peggy was. She’s tough, but she’s civvie, right?”

“I know all this!” He said, surprised by the venom in his own voice. Natasha didn’t blanche; she raised her brows,

“I know. That’s why you’re shitting yourself – do not say ‘language’.”

“I wasn’t,” he lied through his teeth, “so what do you suggest I do?”

“Suck it and see,” Natasha said with a shrug, “she seems like a nice woman. The nurses are fond of her, and she wrote a prescription for Barrett so his kid could get her meds on the health plan.” Steve rubbed the back of his head,

“Right.”

“Do not start with flowers. Start with dinner.”

“I know how to date, Nat.”

“Do you?” She looked over her shoulder before disappearing through a smashed window.

 

Did he?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Juno stared at the bars in front of her,

“I don’t… what if I fall?” She asked,

“You shouldn’t,” Susie said, rubbing her back, “your arms are strong enough, but if you do we’ll catch you.”

“What if you don’t?”

“The fall won’t rebreak your back,” Susie said with the right mix of humour and strictness, “the floor is padded. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you were ready, Juno.”

“I know,” she said, stomach heaving as she rolled her shoulders and twisted her head from side to side.

“You can do this,” Susie said, looking up over her shoulder,

“Can I?”

“Absolutely.” He had a habit of appearing behind her when she was about to do something that could end in utter humiliation. And a habit of returning days before the team was supposed to. Juno closed her eyes,

“Ok.” She said, and when she opened them he was standing at the far end of the bars,

“Susie’s going to have the chair beside you all the time,” he said, “you won’t fall.”

 

_I won’t let you._

She might have been crazy, but the words seemed to hang between them. There was a steady purpose in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. As if he had decided something. Juno nodded,

“Ok, I’m ready.” She said. The click of the breaks sounded like a gunshot. Her throat dried up almost instantly, and she entered a realm of silence which seemed separated from the rest of the world by a thick fog. Susie’s hands on her arm felt insubstantial even though they helped her to her feet. The ache in her back was instant and tangible, bringing her back to the room with a crash. When would that go?

“One step at a time, hon,” Susie said as she gripped the bars. The first step was heavy, slow, and shaky. He foot landed awkwardly, rolling on the outside edge of her sole but it found the ground and stuck to it without trouble. The second came more easily, and then she was making her way, albeit without grace, across the floor. She came to the edge of the bars, stared at the chair, and then looked up at him. _I don’t want to be that chair anymore,_ a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, and Steve seemed to understand. He uncrossed his arms and nodded as she let go of the bars and stepped forward, wobbling precariously. Susie hissed through her teeth,

“Here we go,” she said, reaching for Juno’s hand, grasping at thing air.

 

Juno made it three steps before her right knee buckled and her left, too tired by the sudden exertion, followed suit. The panic was less intense this time; she knew, deep down, that he would catch her. He did, gripping her tight around the waist with both arms. He was as solid as she remembered. She resisted the urge to squeeze his shoulders as he lifted her back into the chair. When she opened her eyes he was inches from her face,

“You ok, doll?” He asked,

“Hurts,” she said to cover the sudden urge to rub her face into the skin on his neck. He looked up at Susie,

“Some painkillers, please,” he said, but Juno didn’t catch her reply. He watched Susie leave, and when the door hissed closed he took her hand gently,

“You’re back early,” she said suddenly, heart hammering in her chest. He looked surprised,

“Yes… the, uh, the weather was good enough to bring the helicopter down sooner than we thought,” He said, “anyway… I’ve been, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes?” Juno looked at his broad, bruised hands to avoid the intensity of his eyes,

“I… I know we’ve not spent a lot of time together, and maybe we don’t know each other very well… but I’m getting quite _fond_ of you, and I wanted to change that,” he said, and then stumbled over his sentiment, “the not knowing you well I mean, not…” he sighed and let his shoulders sag. Juno laughed and looked at the top of his head, tracing the pattern of his hair with her eyes, and then her fingers. She scratched his scalp gently,

“Are… does this mean you’re asking me on a date, Cap?” She asked,

“Yes,” he said after a little silence, and his eyes danced across her face, “are you saying yes?”

“Yes.” She nodded, grinning, “Definitely.”

 

He kissed her hand firmly. Juno flushed, jumping a little as the door hissed open,

“Here, hon,” Susie held out some paracetamol to her with a glass of water, “better holster the big guns if you’re drinking wine tonight.”

“What?” Juno turned her head, noticing that Steve looked around the chair and shook his,

“Nat, _really?”_

“Well, she can’t go out yet.” Natasha said, slinking forward, “Bruce has been wanting to try this new recipe, anyway. Pepper ransacked Tony’s wine cellar.”

“I didn’t know he had one,” Steve said numbly,

“I think he forgot he did, to be fair,” Natasha said, smiling down at her as Juno’s face flushed and became hot and itchy. Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Steve needs help when it comes to the ladies,” Natasha said with a vicious grin, “well, when it comes to _you_ at least.” Juno’s face became, if possible, hotter, but she covered it as best she could with a strangled laugh,

“Well not too much, I hope.”

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to get ready,” Steve gasped as the women started to laugh. Natasha perched on one of the bars,

“Nice comeback… I knew I liked you for a reason,” she said with a grin, “do you need something to wear for tonight?”

“I… if you have a skirt of some kind…” Juno nodded, and then added, “and maybe a razor?” Susie chuckled,

“Don’t worry, Chewbacca, we’ve got you.” She said.

 

        To be fair, Juno reflected as Steve helped her sit at the table, they really did. When a woman as beautiful as Natasha got so involved in her friends love life it was usually a bad sign for the would be date, but as the day had worn on Juno realised she wanted the best for Steve. She was helping, but she was also vetting Juno for a close vantage.

And any woman that will help you shave your legs and underarms has clearly decided you’re worth taking a chance on.

“You look lovely,” he said softly, “really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said, “your friend, um Natasha… she convinced me to wear the blue.”

“It suits you.” He said with a giddy grin, reaching out to touch her hand as if check she was really there. Juno flushed,

“This was so nice of your friends,” she said, welling up as she spoke, _oh Jesus stop it. He’s going to think you’re a leaky tap,_

“It was. I think… I think they like you as much as I do,” he said,

“They don’t know me,” Juno replied, but a smile was forcing its way across her lips,

“Neither do I… but it seems like we’d all like to.” He countered, offering her some wine,

“This is… really, really nice,” she said, staring at the glass for a moment. Steve flushed,

“I didn’t… I’m not a wine guy,” he waved his beer bottle, Juno nodded and leaned forward,

“Neither am I,” she whispered, “I just drink it to look elegant.” He snorted and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

 

The lamb seemed to disintegrate in her mouth, Juno closed her eyes and nodded making a small sound of enjoyment,

“Oh my sweet Jesus that’s something,” she said with a laugh when she opened her eyes. Steve closed his own mouth, which had been agape, and grinned,

“Bruce is actually very good with a chef’s knife,” he said, “he’s a man of many talents.”

“Just like you,” she said, “I saw you guys on TV.” He looked down and away, clearing his throat, Juno felt the weight of something tender and raw there, and side-stepped it quickly, “Quite the tight little outfit you’ve got going on,” she teased, suppressing a smirk when his ears flushed red,

“It’s good for… you know, it doesn’t,” he looked up at her, “I didn’t design it.” He said pleadingly,

“It suits you.” She smirked,

“Please don’t make fun of me,” Steve said helplessly and Juno dissolved into giggles,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I just… you’re so _buttoned_ and then there’s this star-spangled body-glove! I mean I’m not complaining, I’m sure ­ _no_ women are complaining-”

“You’re not?” He said, and she faltered; now she was on the back foot. Juno had forgotten how first dates devolved into a sparring match. Who was making the first move, who was more into it; the back and forth flirting became a form of foreplay in itself.

“Nope,” she said baldly, “definitely not.” He looked away with a shy smile, _I win._ They ate in tense, shivering silence, laying out the battle lines, until he cleared his throat,

“Susie said they’ve given you one of the guest suites here. Is it… is everything alright for you?” He asked,

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Juno said before taking a bite of lamb. She chewed quickly, covering her mouth, and added, “it looks onto the garden.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “…can I… um, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she gulped wine to ready herself,

“Clint… you know, Natasha’s… our friend,” Juno nodded, “he said that I should have kissed you in the garden,” he looked up at her over the plate, and she flushed,

“Oh.”

“I’m asking because… well, if I’d. When….” He sighed, rubbing his head, “during the war,” they laughed a little at it, “that would have been really, really presumptuous of me. It would have been…”

“Improper?” She said, pursing her lips. His eyes narrowed as he caught on to the teasing, but he smiled,

“Yes,” he said, “things have changed so much, and I know I’ve had time to catch up, but not… when it comes to this. I was never good with women in the first place… so…”

“So?” Juno bit her lip,

“Should I have?” He asked,

“Not if you didn’t want to,” Juno said, throat tightening,

“I did.” He said, “Would you have been… I mean, would that have been alright?”

“I wouldn’t have complained,” she said quietly, and it was his turn to blush,

“I see.” He said, eyes falling to his food again,

“I wanted you to,” she added, testing the waters. His face lit up; it had been disappointment. _A yes means yes kind of guy, then,_ she smiled, “I still do.”

 

    They stared at each other wordlessly, as if someone would fade the scene to black for them to make it easier. Eventually he stood shakily, knocking the table with a quiet curse, abandoning the attempt to straighten it halfway through. Steve knelt by her chair, so conscious about not making her stand that a warmth spread through her body,

“Hello,” she said weakly, blinking rapidly,

“Hello,” he said, word growing a U where the E should have been as his own accent shone through the crisp façade that nerves were chewing through. _Just do it, just do it for God’s sake,_ he brushed her hair back from her face, and Juno resisted the urge to grip his hair and hurry the process. There was no hurry, no rush; he ran a thumb down her jaw and leaned forward, bracing on the arm of her chair. She felt his breath on her face, leaned forward, and-

“Steve, I understand you’re busy right now…. But there’s trouble in Azerbaijan.” Tony’s voice rippled through the room with the aid of some unseen intercom system. Steve let his chin drop to his chest and sighed, Juno covered her mouth and giggled nervously,

“Tony, have you been watching us?”

“No, absolutely not. Listening, but not watching.” Tony sounded unrepentant. Juno leaned back in her chair, shaking with laughter, but frustration pooled tight in her belly. A deep throbbing had begun deep in the pit of her stomach,

“I’ll be right there,” he said, staring at her apologetically. Pleadingly.

“It’s fine,” she said, and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. At the last moment a kind of madness took over and she redirected to his mouth, pressing a small, chaste kiss to his lips before turning to grip the crutches she’d been allowed to progress to. When she got to her feet he was still on one knee, staring numbly, “get up or Tony will think you’re proposing,” she teased and he quickly stood, turning beetroot. Steve stepped forward, reaching for her as the intercom hissed again,

“Steve we really do need you here.”

“Oh for Gods…” Steve bit of the outburst and closed his eyes, “be right with you.” He said, a stranglehold of calm falling over his body language,

“I’ll see you when you get back.” Juno said, “Maybe we could go bowling.”

“Bowling?”

“I…” she shrugged, “it’s really the only thing to do in the town nearby, unless you want to ice-skate.”

“No, bowling, yeah. Definitely.”

“I’ll kick your arse,” she said,

“He might like that,” Natasha slipped into the room, “I’ll help Juno back,” she said, “Tony wants to see you in private.” Steve looked ready to argue, but then nodded. Juno watched the “Captain” mask come down in real time for the first time. The man who smiled at her and kissed her cheek was not Steve; the man who squeezed her shoulder and told her he would be as quick as possible, in truth, frightened her a little.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Mentions and implied details of suicide in this chapter

“Any operative could have dealt with this, Nat,” Steve said, “why are we here.”

“They needed us here,” she said, but there was a smirk on her lips that told him something was going on. Steve crossed his arms, bracing against the sudden engagement of the engines. Nat sat down, crossing her legs, and began to note down the details of the mission as Tony sighed and left the cockpit,

“Auto on, suit off, mission done,” he sighed and slumped into a seat, “and I can sleep until we hit the compound.” Steve rolled his eyes,

“Tony why did we come here?”

“To break up a Hydra cell, Steve, were you on that mission?”

“A cell containing three scientists does not require the attention of three avengers.” Steve said, jaw clenching again and again, “What the hell is going on?”

“Steven, language!” Tony said in mock horror,

“Steven is not my name, Tony. You know that,” he sighed, “just tell me what’s going on.”

 

Natasha sighed and re-crossed her legs,

“Look, you were going to blow it.” She said eventually,

“What?”

“You were going to go faster than you were ready for, and you would have felt guilty as hell and it would ruin things,” Natasha said, “so… we stepped in.” Steve closed his eyes, thought about the tight, hot pressure in his gut when they were inches away from each other, the heat of her breath on his face, and the smell of her so close, not close enough.

“Since when has this team had any interest in my love life?” He asked eventually, Tony snorted,

“I told you he’d be mad,” came the muffled reply,

“You agreed it was for the best,” Natasha said to Tony, talking around Steve as if he weren’t there, “you said it yourself. He was going to dive in the deep end and then crucify himself for it later because he was following his-”

“Enough!” The word left his mouth like a whiplash. Steve gripped the anger tight and dragged it back to him with white-knuckle will power alone, “Enough.” Natasha had the grace to look ashamed, Tony said nothing,

“We were just trying to hel-”

“I don’t care, Nat. It wasn’t your place. You used resources, time, three weeks of time, and you meddled in my private life. What if something big _had_ come up while we were away?” He said, _what if I get back and she’s changed her mind?_ Natasha drained the emotion from her face and pursed her lips,

“I’m sorry,” she said, and his heart broke just a little; she wanted to help. She had wanted to do the best for him, “it won’t happen again.” Steve nodded,

“Good.” He said, but the churning in his stomach wouldn’t settle.

 

Wind raked the sides of the plane, rattling them as they sat in tense, terse silence. Eventually Tony sighed and rubbed his face,

“Well, look at it this way Cap,” he said, “you won’t have to worry about how she’s going to bowl in crutches by the time we get back.” Natasha’s lips quirked, Steve sighed, shook his head, and then chuckled,

“Shut up, Tony.” He muttered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Juno sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit gently as she focused on stilling her hands,

“Lie still please, Agent Donnelly,” she said,

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he replied, wincing as she pulled the stitch tight. It felt good to be doing something useful again. It wasn’t surgery, but returning to general practice, so to speak, was a breath of fresh air.

“Keep it clean,” she said, wiping the tender skin before applying a bandage, “no heavy lifting for a few days, bed rest, and don’t scratch it. Okidoki?” He sat up, muscles rippling as he pulled his shirt back on,

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, _Christ, is that all they can say?_ Susie smiled at her and held out her hands for the equipment,

“Wash up and sit down,” she said, “you look tired.”

“No, I’m ok actually,” Juno said, pulling her gloves off, “I enjoyed this. Being useful again.”

“Well, we could use extra hands here…” Susie said, “I could talk to Mr Stark for you?”

“I… um, maybe…” Juno said, thinking about Steve with a twist in her stomach; seeing more of him in the long run would be… good. But it could end badly.

“Good Morning, Mr Stark,” Jarvis piped up, _speak of the devil,_ Juno turned her head a little to catch the sight of the three of them coming into the medical room, less than happy, very tense, and exhausted looking. Tony nodded,

“Jarvis,” he said and slumped into a seat, “reporting in for medical check-up. No injuries sustained.”

 

Susie nodded to her, but Juno resisted the urge to sink into the floor. This was different, this wasn’t field agents and recruits; having dinner with a super hero was hard enough. Giving him a medical was another thing. Steve seemed to be of the same mind,

“Hello,” he said as a red flush crept up his neck,

“Hello,” she smiled at them, a wall of professionalism sliding down seamlessly, “Susie asked me to help while Darren is sick.” She motioned to Natasha and lifted her stethoscope and swallowed the shivering embarrassment that threatened to swallow her whole. Natasha was a model patient, of course, but she could still feel every knot in her lean, muscular form. She slipped from the table without needing to be told when the examination was over and slunk from the room without a word.

 

Steve approached with soundless, feline grace and hopped onto the table,

“Hello,” she said again, quietly this time,

“Hello,” he smiled,

“Are you all ok, you seem… tense?” Juno tentatively, pressing the stethoscope to his chest,

“Fine,” he said, chest rumbling,

“Breath in,” she said, “and out.” The dull roar of his lungs seemed huge and steady, but his heart was beating hard and fast against his ribs. Steve sat still and quiet while she check his blood pressure, eyes, and heart rate once more.

“Do I pass muster?” He asked nervously as she put the stethoscope away,

“More than,” Juno laughed and then blushed, “but no, seriously, you’re fine. Your heart rate is a little elevated, but you work so hard that it’s most likely fatigue,” she took her gloves off, straining to put the equipment on the right shelf, _too fucking short for this,_ “try to rest a little more often and, oh… hello.” A broad, calloused hand reached over her shoulder and placed the bag back for her. His body was a searing line of heat down her back,

“It’s not fatigue,” he said in her ear, “it’s you.”

 

Juno closed her eyes and bit her lip, leaning back until she was pressed against him, shivering when the hands slipped to her hips and dry, hot lips pressed against her ear,

“I guess that makes two of us,” she said, knowing even as she did that it made little sense. She gripped his hand and placed it below her left breast so that he could feel the way it beat a frenzied rhythm on her ribs. A hissing intake of breath through teeth and the hand ghosted upwards, not touching, not pressing, just trailing ever so lightly until it met the skin of her throat and slid upwards to turn her chin. He had to stoop to kiss her, but then she’d always had a soft spot for tall men; she pressed onto the tips of her toes and pulled her body as close to him as she could using his shoulders to balance. Eventually he gave a grunt of frustration and lifted her, one arm under her rear, onto an examination table, _this is one step away from bad porn, bitch, call a halt._

She pressed her hand to his collar bone, just at the base of his throat, and pushed him away gently while pulling back. He strained, for a moment, to reach her then let his shoulders slump in defeat,

“We’re still on for bowling?” She said, impressed by the calm stability in her voice,

“Uh-huh, yeah, definitely.” He seemed to come back to himself in stages, but she knew Steve was in the room when he blushed, “How does tonight sound?”

“Just fine, Captain, come find me about eight?” Juno smiled and kissed his cheek after he nodded and walked further into the medical wing. In the distance she was sure she heard Tony laughing.

      

When she found a supply closet that was entirely empty, Juno shut the door and pressed her back to it; her knees shook, and a hot, wet need had taken up between her legs.

“Shit,” she muttered and took a few deep breaths, popped two painkillers into her mouth and bit down savagely. The pain in her back and neck came in waves, though it had never been as bad as that day when she woke up to a white, strange room. Steve wasn’t a part of the plan; a _man_ wasn’t part of the plan when she had come to the US. It was about healing, about getting forward. About not getting hooked on something with broad shoulders and a separate brain between its legs, but then Steve didn’t seem like that. Then again, they never did.

The door rattled and slammed into her back,

“Ah, fuck!”

“Juno, is that you?” Susie said through the door,

“Aye, yes, it’s just me,” Juno stepped away. Susie looked around the closet as if expecting someone else,

“Are you ok?”

“I was just… taking a moment for myself,” she said, smoothing her hair,

“Uh-huh,” Susie teased, but when Juno said nothing she frowned, “come on now, hon, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing… I’m just… ach, I don’t know,” Juno waved her hands, “I’m… scared I think.” Susie raised her brows,

“Of Captain Rogers?”

“Yes, and no. No, not like that. Just… when I came here I didn’t want to be with anyone. I actively didn’t want anyone, and now…” she shrugged, “I’m. Never mind.”

“Is it because of your Fiance?”

Ice ran through her; Juno closed her eyes to weather the tide of memories. _Broad, rich voice and thick laughter and the smell of whisky and Joop aftershave. The shine of teeth and sweat, and the smell of sex and blood, and a call in the middle of the night – wrists cut to the bone, blood in the bath in the hallway. Blood in the air-_

“How do you know about Hunter?”

“Mr Stark, Tony, had Jarvis do a background when you got here,” Susie pursed her lips, “it was all...”

“In the papers,” Juno said,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… we have to do the checks, but I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Juno wiped a stray tear, “no Susie, it’s fine, I promise. And, yes… it’s kind of to do with him.” She took the offered hug, squeezing the soft, strong frame with conviction,

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.” Susie said eventually,

“I know,” Juno said, “but it hurt. He… I felt like he betrayed me, you know? I shouldn’t have, but I did. It was like… I took a chance on him, and I…” her throat became tight and painful, “I mean I picked other peoples teeth out the damn washing machine weekly sometimes.”

“He was violent?”

“Not to me,” Juno said, “never to me, thank God, but he seemed to find trouble everywhere. He’d wander off for days and come back hurt and sad and… and I, like, I just took it and I made us better with it and we were so strong…” Juno covered her mouth, “but it wasn’t enough. He was so strong, but it wasn’t enough, and I, I was strong but it wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.”

Susie swallowed and gave her a wordless look of sadness and pity,

“Don’t look at me like that,” Juno sniffed, “I don’t need it. I don’t blame Hunter, and I don’t blame me, and I don’t miss… well, I do miss him, but I miss his company not our… not us. It’s not, I’m not still in love with him. I just don’t think I can pour my heart and soul into another man and have him disappear again.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Susie said, “but you walked out there, in front of that crowd and that thing, for a reason. Maybe you don’t believe in God anymore, but I think he couldn’t find a better man for you.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything-”

“Hush, hon,” Susie raised her hand, “I’m telling you that God matched you two well. You’re scared he’s going to leave, well he’s scared of leaving again. Think about it and ask yourself if there’s anyone less likely to disappoint you. That’s all I gotta say.” She said and reached for a catheter behind Juno.

 

Juno ran her hands through her hair and sighed, gripping the well-worn gold cross, too bulky to be a woman’s piece, and reached for the imaginary warmth that she pretended was more than hormones released by remembered feelings.

“What do you think?” She asked him, feeling the absence like a sucking wound where a tooth had been, and imagined what he would have said about Steve. _A hopeless fucking choir boy, probably helps little old ladies across the street and says “gosh” instead of “fucking hell”… nothing like me. I like him. Give him hell, princess… well, heaven, I guess, but skimp the details, yeah?_

“I guess one date can’t hurt,” she said into the musty stillness of the cupboard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly time for the lemons!   
> Poor Cap; he's such a fucking Choir Boy

The bowling alley was so _American,_ so 50’s, so Yankee-fucking-doodle that it made Juno’s head spin, and she was sure that there was a woman by the bar who looked like Clint in a wig, but that could have been paranoia. The music, the lights, the head-sized milkshake the roller bladed waitress put down as they waited for a lane to open up, it was all… _too much_.

But it wasn’t, really.

He was.

Sitting across the table so squeaky clean and helpless looking in his button up shirt that you could forget for a second that he could have lifted overhead and broken any person in the building with ease. So smiling and dimpled and blonde that she could have forgotten the cold, hard stare he’d given her when she lay in that bed. _That_ was the problem.

 

Hunter had the common decency to look and sound like the libido and alcohol fuelled psycho that he was; the gentle side came out of the blue and sunk a harpoon into your heart a little later.

 

     Steve, in short, was an unknown quantity; something she detested both as a person and as a surgeon,

“Susie said that you might be joining the team as a field surgeon,” he said after waiting for their burgers in silence became too awkward,

“Did she?” Juno asked, sipping more of the thick, chocolatey milkshake. Feeling it settle on her ribs, hips, thighs. _Am I?_ Steve bit his lip and sighed,

“Look, have I… did I… upset you?” His brows drew together and that pretty face that shouldn’t have really been pretty set into a mask of puppy hurt. _Fuck you. Or me?_

“No,” Juno said quickly, wiping her mouth, “no… I just. Can I be honest with you?”

“I’d prefer it,” he said with a small, crippling smile,

“I know you know about Hunter,” she said, and his face fell,

“I… yes, we all do. I’m sorry it was-”

“Security screening, I know,” she said, “I don’t mind, but it is… part of the issue. I feel like… I’m abandoning him by being here with you.” It was honest to the point of brutality. It made her ache, but he only pulled his brows together and pursed his lips,

“I understand,” he said, “do you want me to take you back to the compound, or would you like to… continue?” He said it with such kindness, such sincerity, that she welled up,

“No, I’m… I just,” she dabbed her eyes, “God I’m sorry. I’m not a crier usually… you seem to catch me at my worst all the time.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, leaning over to wipe her face with a napkin,

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t,” she laughed, “you’re a choir boy.” He smiled, “I do like you, Steve, I mean the _Captain America_ thing is… huge and kind of frightening, but I like _you_. I like Steve…”

“Really?” He smiled from ear to ear,

“Yes,” Juno laughed, “of course I do. How could I not, you’re supernaturally likable, and…” she motioned to _him_ in general, “you know.”

“Do I?” He asked, but his grin widened just a little,

“But… I was with him for so long and I…”

“You loved him,” he said,

“No, well yes,” she laughed, but her stomach was heaving, “yes, but he was… _me._ We went through… so much together, and I wasn’t sure how to function without him to begin with and now…” she shook her head and focussed on her milkshake,

“And now?” A large, calloused hand closed on hers as she prepared to scare away the first man who had come this close to her since…

“I don’t want to be a one night stand,” she said,

“I would nev-”

“But I’m not sure I… I’m afraid of losing myself like that again,” she raised her chin, “that’s what’s bothering me. I don’t want just… _seeing_ someone, and I’m too scared for a relationship. So I’m wasting your time either way.” She pulled her hand away and sighed, “Maybe you should-”

“You’re not,” he said, reaching for her hand again, though when she held it tight to her chest he exerted no force, “you’re not wasting my time. I don’t need anything from you right now,” he smiled again, that heart breaking grin, “all I need is a little of your time. Everything else can wait.” Juno blinked in mute relief as a waitress placed their food down,

“Your lane’ll be ready in twenty… oh my God, wait are you Captain America?” The waitress, blonde, leggy, tanned, leaned down to press her face close to him. Steve looked her in the eye,

“No, thank you,” he said, “excuse us.”

 

      Juno smiled into the burger, but not for long,

“Fucking hell,” she grumbled, “why does everything have to be so big here?”

“It… can be excessive?” He said agreeably, but she chuckled,

“You’re no exception,” she said before taking a bite. Steve flushed and shrugged,

“Well I… honestly have nothing to say,” he said and took a gargantuan bite of his own burger. By the time she had eaten half of it all Juno’s stomach had taken on a heavy, bloated feeling, and a lethargic fatigue had taken hold. Steve finished his plate and wiped his mouth, “Are you alright?”

“Yep,” she said with a slight gasp, “just… so full. Do you want this?”

“Are you not going to finish-”

“God no,” Juno held up her hands as if to ward a blow, and he laughed,

“Promise not to judge me?” He teased as he swapped their plates,

“Pinky promise,” she raised her hand, “its fine, Hunter used to… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, fork and knife in hand, “what was he like?” Juno licked her lips and pictured him; always on the right side of dishevelled until he was polished, and then he looked like every hard-bitten cop from an old movie. Always smiling until he was screaming. Always crying until he was laughing,

“He was… unstable,” she said, and then laughed, “and I mean that in the non-clinical sense. He was all or nothing all the time. Nothing like you,” she smiled, and when he gave her a small, jerking smile back she clarified, “I think that’s why I like you. You’re steady, reliable.”

“Safe?” He asked,

“Yes, but in the best way,” she said and they smiled at each other, that small flame burning again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She couldn’t bowl; of all the things Steve had expected, or not expected, of tonight it was not that. She had dealt with him so firmly in the beginning, been so… stalwart in facing her injuries, so calm and strong…

It never occurred to him that she would be _bad_ at this, but by God she was.

“Do you want me to get them to put the bumpers up?” He asked when the third gutter ball made her groan,

“No,” she said firmly, stamping her foot. Actually stamping her tiny foot. Terrifying and adorable, “I will not be defeated by a game that children,” a child in the next lane landed a strike, “can master.” Steve watched her practice. Terrible form. He stepped forward without thought, only realising what he had done when the searing heat of her back and rear pressed to him,

“Let me,” he said, voice wavering, “you have to follow through. Like this.” He guided her, “Bend your knee, and lean- um, forward. Yes.” He stepped back quickly when a bend pressed her rear to his groin. It was too hot in here, too close and humid, and the lumbering aircon did so little to alleviate it.

“Like this?” She demonstrated, dress pulling tight to her legs,

“Yes,” he said so quietly she didn’t hear, “yes, like that.” He said after clearing his throat. Juno smiled over her shoulder at him and took the shot, wiping every pin from the lane. She threw up her fists and crowed, _competitive,_ and then threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. The smell of her hit him like a train, musky, spicy, rich, as the silky fabric of her dress teased his fingers. When she pulled back, still dangling from his shoulders like a child, they were eye to eye. Steve smiled, licking his lips before bending to place her on the ground,

“Thank you,” she said, but didn’t let go,

“You’re welcome, and well done,” he said, but still she held on. This time she initiated the kiss, and, perhaps because of that, it felt… more. More intense, more… just _more._ They pulled away when someone in the next lane whistled. Steve flushed and took his shot, finding serenity in the rhythm and the strain of muscle and tendon. She clapped when he wiped the lane clear, sipping her coke through a straw as she kicked her feet, just a little too short for the seats, and swayed to the music.

 

 

      When she opened up to him about her ex he had wanted to hold her, when she laughed and teased him he wanted to reach for her, but after that, after the kiss, he wanted to hide from her. Everything she did was bigger than before, every sound more noticeable, every stretch and bend illuminated. He wanted to be away from here, but not away from her.

He curled his toes in his boots and tried to let the tight burning in the pit of his stomach go, but it stayed with him through every round. Somewhere in the middle of the second game they began to drink. Somewhere in the third a group of men took the lane opposite. At the end of the fourth, having won three of the games, she dropped into his lap with a contented giggle and then started squirming to the seat by his side,

“Sorry,” she said, eyes lazy with wine, “I wasn’t aiming for you, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, the light hum in his mind the only sign of intoxication. She chuckled and let her head rest on his shoulder. The weight of her pressing into him made his head spin; Natasha might have been right when she said he had been alone too long. The men in the other lane whistled and laughed. Anger snapped up like a whiplash, but he caught it and pulled it close,

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked, nudging her with his shoulder,

“Yes,” Juno yawned and stretched as she stood, “definitely.”

 

If she was plagued by the same doubts and fears she voice earlier, Juno didn’t show it. She carried herself well, even when drunk. It was only the sloppy sway to her steps and the looseness of expression that gave her away; she lost some control, but no dignity. Her hair, under the light in the jeep, seemed more orange than red, as he had thought it was, and Steve realised that she looked tired. Not tired, but _tired_. Weary. He touched her shoulder,

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she smiled, mouth a wide gash in her face,

“Really?”

“Really,” it became less theatrical. Sadness seeped in, “I am. Just thinking, but… I’m happy.” The lilt to her voice became musical when she let it loose,

“Good.” He smiled, clenching his hands on the steering wheel tight enough to make the leather creak. She slept some of the way home, talked aimlessly for the rest, and when they ambled back into the compound the harshness of it struck him. This was home, but it looked like a hospital.

“Walk me home?” She laughed at the absurdity of it, but Steve nodded and they walked through the dim corridors in silence until they reached her rooms. When she opened the door that same smell came out to meet him; musky, spicy, fragrant. Behind her a couch, the same one put in when the compound was built no doubt, was covered by a large, colourful throw. It looked like a home, “Do you want to come in?”

 

That question hit him between the eyes,

“Do you want me to?” He asked without thought; she nodded. Steve closed his eyes. She was drunk, tired, and vulnerable. He should have said no. He stepped into the room without opening them,

“Coffee?” She staggered a little,

“I’ll make it,” he said, urging her to sit on the sofa. Juno chattered as he made them, as he put another scoop of coffee into hers. Mumbled as he looked for cream. When he returned she was sleeping. Steve smiled, placed the cups on the table, gathered her up and walked to the bedroom, pulling her shoes off gently before he placed the blankets over her,

“Stay.” She mumbled,

“You’re drunk,” Steve said without pretence; if she thought he was presumptuous so be it. Not like this,

“No… not… just stay,” Juno said, her eyes shining in the dark, “I like having you close.” He curled his toes in his boots, and then kicked them off. She rolled to place her head on his chest without preamble; this was what he had wanted all those years ago. When Bucky was dating and the guys were talking and they couldn’t understand why he didn’t laugh. _This._ This was it. Juno hooked a leg over his and went limp, boneless against him as the first, deep breath of sleep seemed to make her impossibly big before leaving her smaller than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is - the long awaited smut!

Juno felt the hangover before she ever opened her eyes; the heavy, acrid sickness that rose in her throat each time she shifted was matched only by the way the room seemed to whirl and spin even, and especially, while they were closed.

 

Under it all, though, there was a sweet, musky smell that made her cling tighter to the solid heat under her cheek. When the surface lifted suddenly, and slowly fell Juno opened her eyes to look at the seemingly endless expanse of a white button up shirt. _Hunter?_ The world lurched, sickness rose. It wasn’t possible; her heart thudded painfully as she craned her neck, and slammed to a halt as, for a moment, she could not recognise the face.

 

_Steve._

It came back in a flood of disappointed relief; she smiled and swallowed the sickness. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, so _edible_ when he was sleeping. When the blue eyes opened they were focused and sharp, however, and she remembered just who, just _what,_ he was. Then he flushed and her senses spun on their axis again,

“Morning,” he said, accent suddenly thick and rich,

“Morning,” she whispered back and then covered her mouth. He breath was predictably horrific, “I’ll be right back.” She said, muffled now, “Don’t move.” He smiled,

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said with a small, shy smile. Juno staggered her way to the bathroom, bouncing off each wall on the way after she slipped from sight.

 

And what a sight she was; bleary eyed, pasty faced, makeup smeared, and wild haired. She scrubbed her face fresh, brushed her teeth smooth, and dragged a brush through her hair before bending to drink from the faucet. Her stomach heaved, shivered, and then settled.

“I can do this,” she watched her own bloodshot eyes, “we can do this. Do _not_ vomit on him.”

She crawled back into the bed and smothered herself in his arms shamelessly. Not that he seemed to mind all that much. Steve tightened his arms around her and kissed her hair softly, a sudden spasm running through his body after he did so,

“Sorry,” he said,

“Don’t be.” Juno curled her toes and licked her hot, dry lips.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, and she groaned at the mere thought of food. “Hungover then?”

“It’s your fault,” she said weakly, “I was trying to keep up with you.”

“Far be it for me to undermine a lady,” Steve sat up gave he a sympathetic smile, “but I think that’s definitely your fault.”

 

_Bastard,_

“Bastard.” It slipped out before she could shut her mouth, but he laughed,

“I’ll make coffee.” He said, straightening his shirt. Juno nodded and pushed her tongue around her teeth, already furred over again. She needed a shower, she needed to eat. She needed to puke.

 

She settled for slowly swinging her feet to the edge of the bed; by the time he returned her feet were almost on the floor. Steve smiled apologetically and deposited a cup of coffee on the bedside table,

“I have to go,” he said, “there’s… well something’s happening in Bulgaria.” Juno nodded, stomach lurching; this was the problem. He’d always be leaving.

“Okay,” she said weakly,

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, though he didn’t need to explain himself.

“It’s fine,” she said, “duty calls and all that shite…” she waved her hand, “I’ll be here when you get back.” She said, and hated herself for the grain of truth in it.

 

At least, Juno realised, she could puke in peace now; that was relief when the coffee hurtled back at high speed. She huddled in the shower for an hour until the shaking subsided, make a fresh pact with baby Jesus to never drink again, and forced scrambled eggs down her throat before shivering along the halls to find Susie,

“You need anything done?” She asked, lowering herself shakily into a chair. Susie smirked,

“Not when you look fresh of a roller coaster, but I’ll take tea and the low-down on your date?” She leaned forward, Juno laughed,

“It went… well.”

“Just well?” Susie said,

“Why?” Juno narrowed her eyes,

“So it wasn’t him leaving your room this morning?” Susie asked,

“Ok, yes it was but _nothing happened_!” She said quickly, pushing the words out before Susie could say or do anything. She tutted and smiled,

“Well, plenty of time for that later,” Susie said, and then gave her a small smile, “are you… feeling better?” Juno nodded, rubbing her face with her finger tips. “So what’s with the face?”

 

Juno licked her lips and sighed,

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?” She asked, “Him leaving over and over and over.” Susie sighed,

“Yes.”

“Even if it got serious. Even if it went all the way I’d be alone more often than not.” Juno said,

“Yes,” Susie ran her thumb across her mouth, “I guess you just need to figure out if you can handle that.”

 

_Can I?_

 

* * *

 

 

Steve rubbed the rough, sandblasted skin of his face with both hands and sent flakes of dried blood and sweat matted concrete dust spiralling to the ground. A three day mission had turned into a two month slog after the helicopter had been downed and their communications blocked.

 

Progress with Clint’s leg broken was arduous, and with no Tony to fly for help they were reduced to trying to escape the signal that was jamming them on foot through the thick forests. He hadn’t slept in days, hadn’t eaten. Steve’s lids drooped again and again as the sound of an approaching aircraft began to cut through the heavy woodland air. Natasha wiped her brow,

“You holding up?” She gripped Clint’s shoulder,

“Yeah.” He said, “I’m good.”

Steve set his jaw and stood to watch the craft descend lazily, and then stooped to help Clint stand,

“Let’s go.” He said, gripping the hooks on his fatigues, hauling him up to move faster. Tony stood on the ramp, arms crossed, as they approached,

“I told you should have waited for me,”

“Do not say I told you so.” Natasha pushed her finger into his face,

“I informed you thusly,” Tony replied drily and shook his head, “your girls been losing her mind, Stevie boy, be prepared to dodge a projectile or two when you walk in unharmed.” Steve shook his head,

“She’s not mine, and she’s not going to throw anything Tony.”

“She will,” Clint panted, “it’s what they do. Laura broke my nose with a mug the first time I was declared MIA.”

“It was an accident,” Natasha said,

“She threw it at my head!”

“She assumed you’d be smart enough to duck,” Natasha tutted, but then added, “if she did it deliberately she’d be dead.” Steve sighed and pushed himself against the netting until a comfortable sleeping position could be reached and let their bickering fly over his head; he remembered the tearful horror and self-loathing that came after that. He remembered Laura’s insistence that she see a therapist for stress and anger management. So did Clint and Natasha, but they needed something to pick at each other with.

 

The rattling of the craft was familiar enough that he found he could doze, but every unusual sound, every jolt with too much power sent a bolt of adrenaline through his fatigued system. When the plane touched down he was halfway between sleep and wakefulness, irritable, caked in dirt and sweat, and ready, above all else, to sleep. So, naturally, she was the first person he encountered; the fates, or God, or destiny, _whoever,_ were never kind. Juno blinked at him rapidly, seemed to balance on the balls of her feet and waver somewhere between two gut reactions. Her nostrils flared.

 

Maybe she _was_ going to throw something.

 

Then, just as suddenly, she made a choice and her shoulders relaxed,

“I’ll run you a bath,” she said, “and make something to eat.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked away. Clint grunted in pain as he was deposited in a wheelchair,

“Marry her,” he grunted, “and then call my wife to let her know she has to lock the mugs up.” Natasha laughed,

“I’ll call Laura, don’t worry.” She smiled and slipped away, ever graceful, ever silent. Steve stood in the hushed, cream hallway, head spinning with weariness, until his feet took over; they followed the spicy scent all the way to her door. He knocked and waited for her to answer the door.

“I thought you had gotten lost again,” she said, eyes rimmed with red.

“Have you been crying?” He asked thickly, dully,

“No,” she lied and they let it lie, so to speak. He let her usher him into the bathroom; she _had_ run a bath. With bubbles. There was a candle too. Steve smiled, “I know, I don’t know why I did it,” she said, “it was stupid.”

“It’s… lovely.” He said, and his throat became tight; she was trying to take care of him,

“Are you hurt?” Her fingers ghosted across his back,

“No,” he said, “just… tired.” He turned his head, “Thank you.” Juno’s eyes were shining, worried, a crease had formed between her brows. She pursed her lips, shook her head, and pushed up onto her tip toes. It should have been effortless, but all Steve could think as she pressed a kiss to his lips was of how he must smell, of how rough his lips must have been. Of the deep seated ache in every fibre of his body. She gripped his face and pressed her forehead to his,

“I was worried,” she admitted it so easily, but her body was coiled tight as a whip. He felt him, then, the spectre that hung between them, and he didn’t leave when Juno did. Steve felt him pressing on his mind as he sank beneath the soft, scented water. It was obvious he would never leave. He would have to find a way to live with that.

The question was whether or not he could.

 

 

A pile of clothes were stacked outside the door; his. He closed the door again and pulled them on, balling the dirty stealth suit in on itself before he padded into the small kitchen,

“Natasha dropped them off,” Juno said, offering him a steaming plate. Steve looked at the reddish, orange stew of meat and vegetables, and took in the spicy, hearty smell,

“Jalfrezi?” He asked, and she smiled,

“Yes, I didn’t know if you were a fan… but I’d already started prepping it when we heard you were coming back…” she trailed off as he began to eat, raising her brows, “hungry?” He flushed and nodded, “Well there’s more if you want it.” She picked up her own plate and walked into the sitting room. These guest quarters felt more like a home, now; she had added so many small things. So many parts of herself. With his clean skin stinging in the cool air, and his stomach full and pleasantly warm Steve felt a trickle of energy seeping back into his limbs.

 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he said suddenly, placing his plate on the coffee table,

“It’s not your fault,” she said,

“But I’m sorry anyway,” he said as his fingers twitched flexed. He wanted to lean over and pull her close. If only she would kiss him _now_. She flushed, redness creeping up her neck, as if she knew what he was thinking. Steve smiled sheepishly and took her empty plate,

“Are you going?” She hovered behind him,

“I was thinking about it,” he said, _ask me to stay. Please._

“Oh, ok,” she nodded and rubbed her face, “I’ll see you later? Or tomorrow?” He nodded and peeled himself away from her gaze reluctantly,

“Yes.” He nodded, stomach turning over and over and over. His fingers brushed the door handle just as she made a sound,

“Steve…”

“Yes?” He turned to her, blanching when he saw the tears on her face. She ran to him, sliding under his arms to press her face to his chest,

“We thought you were… well, I thought you were dead.” She said into his shirt, shaking with the effort of controlling her tears. Steve wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her head,

“I’m much tougher than most people, you know,” he teased her because it was all he could do without weeping himself. Juno nodded,

“I know,” she said, “I know… it’s just…”

“I know.”

“You’re not him.”

“I know.”

“So do I,” she raised her chin to look up at him, “really I do.” Steve nodded, “But I worry. And I worry about worrying because it means I like you. And liking you means being alone more often than not, and I think I can be ok with that if you just promise not to die.”

 

Her honesty made his stomach ache,

“I can’t promise that.” He said, mouth dry and numb,

“Promise to die after me?” She smiled when she said it, and held out her pinky. Steve shook his head,

“We could synchronise?” He said with a laugh. Juno nodded and gripped his pinky,

“Sorry,” she said, wiping under he eyes, “I’ll stop crying one day. I swear.”

“It’s fine,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ear.

 

The kiss was gentle, and this time he thought about how she smelled and felt. This time she wrapped her arms around his neck tight enough to drag him down; this time she was sober. Steve stooped to lift Juno from her feet, flushing when she wrapped her legs around his waist, and staggered back into the sitting area, almost tripping over the table,

“That way,” she gasped, motioning to the bedroom,

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t you want to?” She paled a little,

“No, no, it’s…” they stopped becoming awkward; he took control, “I want you to want to.”

“I want to,” she said, and he leaned to catch her lips again as hot, shivering need slithered through every inch of his body. She smelled like spice and perfume, and soap, and as he pressed her hard onto the mattress he caught a musky scent that made his head spin and his cock throb. He wanted to press his face between her thighs, chase that scent and make her scream, but her mouth was too intoxicating.

 

Each kiss spun the world faster than before; he pushed his hands up her legs, slowing crumpling the soft material of her skirt as they progressed. She tugged at the buttons on his jeans fervently, gasping into his mouth when his fingers brushed over the material of her underwear,

“Is this ok?” He asked,

“God yes,” she whispered, and he grinned as he pulled them slowly, slowly back down her legs, discarding them as soon as he could. She unbuttoned her own blouse, throwing it over his shoulder with a laugh as she wriggled onto her side to unzip her skirt. Steve gripped her hips and rolled her onto her stomach,

“Let me,” he said as if he were being polite, as if it had nothing to do with the suddenly, definitely ungentlemanly, desire to see the curve of her waist leading down to her ass. Juno laughed and pressed her hips up to speed the process, looked over her shoulder in a way that stopped his heart, and grinned like she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I see,” she said, and he pretended that he had no idea what she meant. She removed her own bra and turned to wrap her arms around his neck again, kissing his neck and shoulders until he dragged her back to his mouth. He dived into the kiss, surprised at how much he wanted it. Almost more than… _almost._

He followed her back to the mattress, and slid between her legs. She wasn’t perfect, and somehow that was better. She was soft, not muscled, and her hips were overshadowed, just a little, by a slight bulge at the base of her torso. A scabbed cut on her leg caught the callouses on his palm, a silvered stretch mark gleamed at the very base of her stomach. He took all of it in in a second, and when she shrank and tried to cover the imperfections he let her and then told her she was beautiful in as many ways as he could conjure.

Her arms uncoiled, her hands slipped away. They peeked through again, and he grinned into her mouth.

 

She was wet.

 

Wet enough that the process wasn’t smooth; he slipped at first, grinned and laughed through the frustration, and then stilled so she could guide him. It wasn’t perfect, and that was why it was; the irony wasn’t lost on him. Somewhere in the middle of the long, slow thrusts that it boiled down to she bit into his shoulder and moaned, shook and clenched as her fingers, along with his efforts, brought her over the edge. Steve relaxed and gripped her knee, lifting it as he sought her mouth one more time, and thrust harder, faster, into her. The headboard smacked the wall rhythmically as the pit of his stomach coiled and tensed, drawing down to a tight, searing line before he moaned into the pillow at the side of her head.

 

She stroked his back gently; that was the first thing that came into focus. The feel of her nails as they ran across the slick, hot skin over his shoulder blades.

“So…” he panted, shame building, “I should have asked before-”

“Yes.” Juno said, “We’re definitely doing this. And we can have dinner tonight,”

 

Steve grinned.

“Good.”


End file.
